Prophecy Bound
by butterfly-pieces
Summary: The responsibility of the Lexicon, the truth about heaven and hell; none is as heavy as the realization that Allison may be harboring feelings for John/Lucifer and that, perhaps, he is toying with her in ways she'll never understand. Does she want to? John/Allison
1. Disclaimer & Author's Note

**Disclaimer: **I have no right over the Prophecy franchise, the movies, the characters and whatnot. Nor am I versed in the mythology of the movies as a whole.

**Author's Note: **The following fanfic is a prequel to "Second Chances" (soon to be uploaded into ). It takes place after "The Prophecy: Uprising", connecting itself to the next installment "The Prophecy: Forsaken", then some bits happen during the timeline within that movie and, finally, after the movie concluded.

Just like the sequel, it might read a little strange because I never meant for it to be a full-fledged fanfic. I'd been given random prompts and said prompts gave birth to short pieces which, then, I realized, connected themselves to each other and gave birth to a whole idea.

I'll start each chapter with the prompt that inspired it, to kind of give you an idea of where it came from.

Whether the idea is seamed perfectly, I'm not quite sure, but here it is. Or, here it will be :-)


	2. Chapter 1 - A Peculiar Platter

_"Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine." (Casablanca, 1942)_

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**Chapter 1. A Peculiar Platter**

* * *

John has lived a very, _very_, long life – if you can call damned to rule the underworld a form of living.

It was a suitable punishment, he has to admit, considering he had wanted to rule something much greater – to stand on equal grounds, so to speak – but his Father had seen it best to give him exactly what he had wanted, just not _how _he had wanted it.

The irony, in many ways, is not lost to him.

He, however, has used it as an opportunity to exert what power he _does _have by making life on earth a little more interesting-and death? Well, even more so for some.

But, somehow, after so long, it's his turn to have something interesting served to him on a rather peculiar platter.

Allison is not an ordinary mortal – not really – as a nephalim, she has certain attributes that set her apart, but she's not the first offspring from an angel and a mortal. He's seen many of her kind, tools used in the game of creatures greater than they, so there's very little that should interest him other than the purpose they are meant to serve.

Somehow, Allison has stepped into her role as more than just a tool.

She is the sole survivor of a delectable tragedy now that her brother is dead, but even so, many mortals have survived far worse with outstanding grace – some have even risen to power but, as many know, power comes with greed and pride, most of which are his domain.

But Allison...she can walk into the darkest land – hell on earth, as he put it – and still remain...untouched.

She is by no means a saint – that would be too much fun to tamper with – but her will stays strong throughout.

She doesn't have the strength that he's accustomed to – the kind that brings people to his door with a gift bow on their forehead nor the kind that takes the veil and pretends to ignore his existence.

She's accepted the Lexicon, she met her long, lost brother – and shot him – she has faced the reality of angels, of demons and him.

Most mortals have gone mad at the sight of the things she's seen, let alone the truth of it all – most mortals would either go for incredibly devout to the cause or, his personal favorite, flee from their chosen path and self-destruct.

If she had been any other mortal with no need to ever cross his path, he never would've noticed her, but now it is too late.

She is in this game – _his _game – and worst of all, she wants to play.

Such an idea would normally make him smile – the possibility of a diversion on earth is often rare for him – but Allison is not your average monkey.

Not to him.

She goes on about her life normally, she does very little to attract attention and, yet, he watches her, constantly, telling himself it's about the book and how she's the one who will keep it away from them, fulfilling a very important purpose.

The purpose of both heaven and hell – one he, himself, looks forward to immensely.

And yet, why does he feel like he's met a fork in the road?

After such a long existence, one goal firm in mind, one boring mortal walks onto his path, being chased by death, protecting a book she – then – knew nothing about and she throws the possibility of another desire in his mind.

One he cannot entertain, he tells himself.

He will not.


	3. Chapter 2 - The Light through the Dark

_"Have you ever danced with the Devil in the pale moonlight?" (Batman, 1989)_

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**Chapter 2. The Light through The Dark**

* * *

It's hard to understand life after the Lexicon; life after her brother's death – someone she knew for only minutes before she had to kill him, to kill Belial – life after being hunted by memories, by pieces of heaven and hell, after knowing the Devil himself and fearing him less than the world around her.

And that's the thing.

The Lexicon makes the world – the _real _world – terrifying and alien.

How would you feel if you knew that, in your hands, were the secrets of the end of life itself and the prophecies that would wipe the world clean?

She can't sleep without waking up from nightmares on most nights. Eating doesn't come easy, either, as half the time she doesn't have an appetite.

So, when a guy from church asks her out to dinner, it's almost comical when she says yes.

She's not sure why she said yes – because there had been people around them, because one of the old ladies smiled sweetly between them or because he's been, generally, a very sweet guy.

But, on the night of the date, the reason hits her like a ton of bricks – Alan looks like John, sort of. They would never be identified as twins but the resemblance remains.

His eyes are a darker shade of brown, less of a mystery, whereas John's eyes are an amber-like brown with a hint of green. His smile is carefree and gentle, it doesn't scare her, whereas John terrifies her and she can't remember if she's ever seen him smile. Alan is taller, John is shorter by a small margin, and they both have similar builds, with messy, raven hair, except Alan's curls are wilder while John's fall neatly around his face, like a halo, which is funny when you think about it.

They're different kinds of people – is John even a person? – but he reminds her of John, somehow, and it's a dangerous thought that shouldn't linger...especially once she considers how it might've affected her choice to say "yes".

"You seem preoccupied," the man in front of her is patient and looks almost as nervous as she feels – though, she suspects, hers are entirely different reasons.

"Sorry," she feels her cheeks flush and wants to kick herself, hard. She never should've agreed to it. But Alan is sweet and so unlike John – personally, at least – then why is she still thinking about him, comparing Alan to him? She tries to change the subject back to Alan, targeting the last thing she remembers from his side of the conversation. "So, what happened after your friends took the keys?"

He smiles, continuing his story, and Allison pretends to be absorbed in it. She _pretends_. She pretends that she fits in the romantic setting the restaurant gives out – soft lighting, piano player, a woman with an ethereal voice and dinner plates with small portions but quite the decorative display on them.

She thinks about the dancing – she's always wanted to dance – but Alan, sweet as he may be, seems mostly interested in speaking about himself.

An hour into the meal, she realizes...she shouldn't have even tried. Her mind can't even participate in the mundane act of a "date" without thinking of shadows, of death, of the Lexicon, of seeing herself die, of _him_.

When they step out, she tells him she's going to walk home – after everything she's been through, walking home at night is the least fearful thing she could do. Alan lets her, with a frown, probably sensing the same thing she has – she's not built for this and she's been far away into her own mind, half-listening to him, saying very little about herself.

She's grateful for the full moon tonight, as it illuminates more than the street lights can, and it makes the walk home feel less lonely for her, which is ridiculous, she knows, but she takes a small comfort in it.

The walk up the stairs is a heavy one. Every step has a rush of cold air, a gunshot, her mother's screams – which she remembers better now thanks to John – and the scar of her skin stinging from the memory of the glass cutting through her cheek.

She realizes she's operating on automatic; walking up the stairs, pulling out her keys from her purse, opening the door, taking off her jacket, pulling the chopsticks from her hair, letting it loose, until she pauses by the mirror. She had left the curtains drawn, shedding a natural light in her room which makes her skin look white, her gray dress a dark shade of blue now and her lips a dark shade of violet instead of red.

She doesn't remember life before this – before the Lexicon. She did have a life. She had a small job at the church, she had been too awkward to retain the interest of most friends – too broken – and relationships with men were often brief and painful, but not unbearable.

Whatever is looking at her reflection is something different, something new, yet feels like it's been there forever.

She feels a chill run across her spine and she grinds her teeth until it recedes. She rubs her arms, trying to shake it off, and walks towards the balcony, hoping some air might clear her mind better.

There's a dark figure standing under the street lamp. For a second, she wonders if Alan followed her home – they do look alike, in the distance – but the truth is worse.

She knows that coat, that solemn gaze – she knows _him_.

She doesn't know how long she stands there staring at him – has he been there all along? – but she makes the decision to move away from the balcony doors, though she hadn't meant to go down the stairs and out the building to greet him.

He's on the opposite sidewalk and she doesn't move to cross the street.

A desolate mood covers the street like a blanket, but the cold it emits feels like it's more likely to drown her than cover her.

She shudders again and it reminds her of the earlier chill – had it been him?

She wouldn't be surprised.

When it's obvious he can stand there all night just watching her while she's trying not to freeze, she speaks first, "What are you doing here, John?"

"How was your date?" His face betrays nothing, neither does his voice, but _those_ words coming out of _his _mouth nearly makes her fall over.

She blinks, the question of jealousy resounding in her mind, but she's not crazy enough to voice it out loud. "Were you watching me?"

"I am watchful of many things, Allison. You are merely one of them." The smile is small, turning just at the corner of his lips, but it changes his eyes entirely; predatory and completely in control.

It makes every nerve ending on her skin stand and nudge her to flee, but she doesn't.

"Are you changing job descriptions now?" Off his quirked brow, she lifts her chin, mustering some form of boldness. "Guardian angel versus fallen angel?"

The way his smile moves every line on his face makes her blink and, in that moment, he's no longer there. When she steps back in surprise – trying to assess her surroundings – she bumps into him and before she can force herself to turn to face him, his hands grab her arms, keeping her still and his breath touches her ear.

She freezes.

"Had I wanted to protect you, Allison, I wouldn't have let you keep the book," each word makes her heartbeat stutter and she swallows, hard, trying to keep herself upright and away from his chest, though she cannot control the proximity.

"What do you want from me?" She's trying to figure out how to move away from his grasp, but his hands are still tight on her arms and he is not giving her a choice – he's not moving, either.

"That boy..." She snorts at his choice of words. To him, Alan _would _be a boy. "Does he remind you of anyone?"

She gasps, mouth shut, holding her breath once it reaches its peak and his chuckle touches her back.

"Interesting," he adds and his hands begin to move, caressing his way down to her elbow before removing his hands and placing them on her waist. His hands are slithering across her stomach and she has to exhale – it's either that or die of asphyxiation – but more than that, she surrenders, leaning back with her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes.

If this is a dream – another nightmare – she doesn't want to look at his face.

She knows it'll be the last thing she remembers when she wakes up.

Her body responds, lets him caress her skin through the fabric of her dress and even though there _is_fabric between them, she feels her skin burn – even her insides are burning with the combination of need and fear.

"Open your eyes," he whispers the order so close to her ear, her eyes flutter in response to the intimacy but they open. Above them is the moon, full and bright, but she won't look at him. She focuses on that instead. "Do you desire me, Allison?" She doesn't answer – she doubts she has to. "Do you know what happens to those who desire me?"

She swallows. That she can find words to, "I can guess."

"Yes, you can." As if on cue, a cloud covers the moon, thick and dark, but the light shines through it like a holy battle of light versus dark.

She wonders if that's what she is to him – a moon trying to shine her way through the dark, but even then, the cloud never lingers for long.

She staggers, almost falling back, when he moves away, but she recovers and glares at him when he simply stands aside, watching her. She sighs, her cheeks flushed, other parts of her body equally affected, but she can't be the one to admit it out loud.

"Alan is nothing like you." It's not exactly what she wants to say but he did ask, a while ago.

"I know," he answers, too quickly, and his face is blank.

Irritation colors her cheek, "He's a good man."

His lips turn, a slight smile, "You would think that."

"You know what I also think?" Hand on her hip, sexual frustration reaching its peak along with everything else. "You want me. And you can pretend I'm just a means to an end, someone to watch over the book while heaven and earth collide, but I'm not, am I? I'm the one person that knows who you are and hasn't run screaming."

He walks toward her until their chests are touching and her words doesn't seem to affect him at all but, his words, as always, say more, "I can smell your fear."

Her voice quakes, "I never said I wasn't scared." Her voice is small, but she doesn't stop, "I just said I'm not running."

"No, you're not." She thinks he's going to finish that by pressing his finger on her scar again – by bringing every memory she's ever run from to light – but he doesn't. Instead, his lips touch hers and, for one moment, she feels like she's burning inside out and, even though that's a sure sign that she should stop, she doesn't.

It's not until the cold from the empty space around her hits her that she realizes he's gone and he's taken the fire with him.

She curses herself, even as the tears start streaming, because this thing she has with him – an unspoken understanding, a twisted allegiance, an emotion without a name – it's a dance she can't continue.

Not when the darkness will one day consume her and, then, what light will she have to give?


	4. Chapter 3 - The Scars that Lie Beneath

_"I'm battle-scarred, I am working oh so hard to get back to who I used to be." (Near To You - A Fine)_

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**Chapter 3. The Scars that Lie Beneath**

* * *

When Allison wakes up in the hospital, she _cries_, like an idiot, because for a moment, she thought it was over.

The pages being scattered, the gunshot, the fall and _Simon_.

She'd been hearing him all her life and finally _seeing_ him, to her, gave her what she needed to feel validated, to feel a _little _less crazy than what she sometimes thought she was.

Now?

There are no voices, just the beeping sound from the machine, needles piercing her skin and a soreness covering every inch of her body.

She may not be easy to kill, but she can still hurt – she hurts _everywhere_.

It takes a couple of weeks before she's released.

Her brother visits her once – he would've stayed longer, but he has a family of his own – and her mother also visits, her father absent – they've been separated for years, but they refuse to discuss things like that in front of her, fearing it might trigger her schizophrenia.

She doesn't tell them she knows she's adopted – in a way, she's always known, even before Dani – but part of her wonders if they ever thought _she'd _find the truth on her own.

They've always treated her like such a fragile thing when, in truth, she's been stronger than even she expected herself to be; she survived Stark's form of torture and balcony view into hell.

It's now that she feels weak – depleted – and lost.

Allison feels relieved once they stop treating her like an invalid and finds it ironic when they make a comment on how weird she's acting when, for the first time, there are no voices.

It's all a memory now – it's _over_ – and yet, why does she feel like she _aches _for the voices, for the past, for the purpose she used to have?

She thinks of Simon during the day – wonders if he's watching over her still – and thinks of John at night, before bed, looking for him in the shadows, but he never shows.

Why should he?

He got what he wanted and there's really nothing else to bother with – nothing he would want from her.

It doesn't stop her from looking.

She continues to work with the church – they're always welcoming – and every day is routine.

It's a complete change from what her life was like a month ago.

And yet, her mind carries out the same tune. There are no voices to complete the symphony, but the melody remains, needing just one instrument to keep it alive.

A memory.

It wouldn't be long before another instrument joined in – her dreams – and, then, she would wish for the voices instead.

All her dreams would revolve around John – terrifying dreams – and in those dreams, who she is and was has no importance.

The only thing that would matter is who he wanted her to be and that, to her, is more terrifying than being hunted by an army of angels.


	5. Chapter 4 - Dreams of Damnation

_dreams _

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**Chapter 4. Dreams of Damnation**

* * *

The days pass by too slowly for Allison – uneventful – and part of her is losing her mind over it but a greater part of it is clinging to the only time when she feels _sane_.

When the day ends and she has to face the night, to sleep, she shudders knowing full well what awaits her.

She dreams of everything; a constant reminder that, while the past may be the past, it isn't over yet.

Something is coming.

She's not sure what – Simon's not been very forthcoming these days and she hears nothing from him.

She doesn't hear from John, either.

But part of her senses him or maybe she just wants to believe he's the only one still watching her.

Her ache translates into images through her subconsciousness and she _dreams_.

In her dream, she's often walking into his little building of hell – where her parents died – his version of a mausoleum except, it's not dark or full of ghosts then.

It looks like what it used to be, memories from a time that she couldn't possibly remember.

There's no one there, but evidence of life remains; empty chairs, desks covered in paperwork, maps laid out, coffee cups still full and steaming.

A series of flashes reveal blood on the walls, screaming, gunshots and Allison fights to cover her ears but there's someone restraining her arms behind her, her wrists locked in a firm grip.

When it stops, she's turns around to face her captor, and it's John, wearing a suit that makes him look even more soulless and a pair of shades that hides his gaze from her.

In an act of inexplicable bravery, she reaches up to remove the shades, hands shaking and once they're off him – he doesn't stop her – she lets them fall from her hand, and the sound that had meant to be nothing but the sound of plastic hitting tiles sounds like lightning breaking a rock in half.

He pulls her against him, his cheek against hers, and her hands are on his shoulder, her grip tightening when she feels his nose touching her neck. He's breathing her in and she finds she can't breathe.

"Stop," she gasps, her voice sounding distorted and alien to her own ears.

He pulls back but he's still holding on to her, his arms possessively locked around her waist. His eyes are black now and she feels _terrified _of him, now more than ever, but the fear is accompanied by something else – something very wrong.

"Allison," he whispers her name until the fire in her belly is all she feels and she has to close her eyes, but she doesn't stop seeing.

Somehow, she knows they're moving, gravitating onto the floor, even though neither of them is making an attempt to lie down. She can feel her back on the floor, she can see blood pooling around them, pulsating on the wall. She can see him watching her like a hungry man and his arms are still around her waist, but it doesn't feel like they're trapped between her and the floor – it almost feels like there is no floor.

When she opens her eyes, finally, he's too close, and she should be screaming – crying – and trying to run, but she isn't.

Something about John has always drawn her in.

Maybe her family had been right – she is crazy, too crazy, finding normalcy in the voices, the war amongst angels, the impending battle between heaven and hell, that she has now chosen to fall in love with the worst angel of all.

The one who fell from God's grace.

And now she's falling with him.

It's in that dream she realizes, when she pulls him for a kiss, that she's fallen for him.

As the blood finally touches her – touches them _both _– the fire consumes her, threatens to unmake and transform her.

Clothes disappear by will alone and his skin is fire, his kiss, his touch, his gaze, the way his teeth graze her skin – _everything _about John is hellfire, the purest form of pleasure and pain, and she wants to laugh, to cry, to scream, to simply die, but she can't.

She can only burn.

That morning she wakes up breathless and _wet_.

She touches her cheeks to see that she _had _been crying, through her dream, and she touches herself to see if any of the marks he had given her are there.

There's no evidence of her dream – nothing to affirm it as a reality – but the taste of him is on her lips, her arousal clearly approving of it while her tears bear a different opinion.

She knows these dreams will be far worse for her than the voices were.

The voices, at least – Simon – had meant to prepare her for what she had to do – protect the book – but this?

She can't imagine what the dreams are trying to prepare her for, other than eternal damnation.

She closes her eyes, trying to steady her breathing, knowing full-well that a part of her wants to go back to the dream while another part wants to _jump_off a building and, this time, not survive.

It's not hard to guess which one will win, she knows.

With a resigned sigh, she says to herself, "Eternal damnation, it is."


	6. Chapter 5 - Troubled Mind

_I do desire we may be better strangers. - William Shakespeare, As You Like It, 3.2 _

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**Chapter 5. Troubled Mind**

* * *

She is seeing him _everywhere_.

The hunt for the book is over, the pages are scattered, and yet Lucifer himself fills her thoughts, not only in her sleep, but in her waking hours.

She doesn't often walk through the city anymore. Even though the threat of angels has dissipated, somewhat, part of her feels the story hasn't ended.

Something else is coming.

Something _worse_.

She just doesn't know what it is.

It has to do with John.

Why else would she be dreaming of him?

She needs to believe that – wants to tell herself to believe it – because if that is not the case, if her paranoia is wrong, then she's possibly having fantasies of the devil himself, and she can't justify those feelings.

At all.

He saved her once, this is true, but for his own selfish reasons – by his own admission – and the next time, he simply moved her, like a pawn, and she had to walk the rest of the way, watched by him, but seemingly unprotected.

"Allison," his voice calls her from her thoughts and stops her from crossing the street just in time to stop a collision course with a kid on a bike.

Her heart is in her throat as she turns her head to see where his voice was coming from, but all she sees is his back – he's already walking away.

She wants to go after him – call after him, maybe, say thank you?

She doesn't. She hugs herself tighter and takes a deep breath, knowing better than to follow that path.

That door has closed, it should stay closed, and there is no reason for John to be in her life, for any of the angels to be in her life, for the war to crawl under her bedroom door – none at all.

But it is – maybe not the war, not yet – but John will never be someone she'll forget...nor someone her mind will ever be free of.


	7. Chapter 6 - Can You Keep a Secret?

_"I'm going to make him an offer he can't refuse." (The Godfather, 1972) _

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**Chapter 6. Can You Keep a Secret?**

* * *

Allison wakes up to the sound of thunder – at least, she thinks that's what it is – except when she sits up, heart in her throat, the night is quiet.

Too quiet.

There's no rain, no lightning and definitely no thunder, but she felt it – somewhere in her core, she _felt _the aftershock of a thundering sound.

She reaches for the lamp on her bedside table but, before her arm can extend, the light is on and there's someone sitting on the edge of her bed, looking at her with curious eyes.

It's not John.

His hair is slicked back, his features are haunting and his eyes scare her the most – they're big and probing. Even though she's wearing pajamas and clutching the bedsheets to her chest like a shield, she feels _naked _– completely at his mercy.

She swallows, "Are you here to kill me?"

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips and his head tilts to each side as if contemplating it before he shrugs, "No. But, if you would've asked me that question a couple of decades ago, I might've come up with a different answer."

"Who are you?" She knows _what _he is – it's too obvious. It radiates off him like a pulse – a beam of light – and she knows he is no Stark.

Stark had been a Seraph, part of the high hierarchy of angels but what had Dylan said...about which of them were above Seraph...?

She searches her memory for the word.

Archangels.

"Michael?"

His insulted expression gives her an answer and she swallows, knowing this is not an angel she wants to annoy.

"And the angel came in unto her, and said, Hail, thou that art highly favoured, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women." Allison's eyes widen as she presses her hand to her stomach and he quirks a brow, pausing his words, "You're not that blessed."

She let out a sigh of relief – although, she knows, if God wanted her to...if she had to...would she?

"Why are you here?" Gabriel. She knows who he is now. His clever way of testing her intellect had worked, but it doesn't explain what he wants with her.

Which side is _he _on?

Does he wants to know who the anti-Christ is or does he want to help her?

"You're going to die, Allison," he stands from the bed, hands behind his back, and the look on his face is very...calm. Too calm.

"Do you want me dead, too?" Right now she doubts that, as in her experience, his kind does not waste time with warnings.

He pauses, locking his gaze with hers – she feels chills – before his gaze turns away from her. "What I want doesn't matter. It's going to happen, soon, and you won't stop it. You've fulfilled your purpose, for now." He sighs, continuing his stride. "You monkeys are very good at that...when you want to be. And you're a very special monkey, aren't you?"

The way his body turns to her makes her wonder if she's going to die right then. He's standing at the foot of her bed, looking very much like a devil and much less like an angel.

He could give John a run for his title.

"You did good, Allison. Not great, but good. You haven't surpassed your betters and, probably, never will. But your death...your death might just change the course of the entire war."

She swallows, eyes shut tight, hand clasped over her heart, where its beating threatens to unmake her – thump, thump, thump. "What do you want me to do?" Because that's what it all comes down to – a purpose.

When she opens her eyes, she jumps, her back meeting the headboard, because Gabriel is standing right next to her, leaning over her until his eyes look like tunnels and she's being sucked in.

"I'm going to tell you a secret. A very important secret. I'm going to hide it in you. You'll remember everything else, but you'll forget this until you need to remember it. Not a second before, not a second after. Do you understand me?"

She nods, breathless, even though she wants to shake her head because _none _of this makes sense and she still doesn't know – does it even matter? – if he's someone she should be helping.

What does he want from her? What do they need from her now?

_Faith_, she reminds herself. She has to have faith.

"Good."

And when he takes her face in his hands, she feels like her skull is going to crack open – like he's trying to grind her bones together until there's nothing left – but she doesn't scream.

She can't.

Allison wakes up to the sound of thunder, but it's not raining and the sunlight is streaming through her balcony.

She groans, palm pressed over her forehead as a headache starts to form.

Something about last night gnaws at her – something in her head just _hurts _– and she can't remember what it is.

Some part of her doesn't want to.


	8. Chapter 7 - Unrealistic Desires

_"Your help just hurts, you are not what I thought you were." (Love Song, Sara Bareilles) _

* * *

**Chapter 7. Unrealistic Desires**

* * *

Allison wakes up – her heart in her throat – with a clear sense that she's not alone.

She immediately reaches for the lamp on her bedside table, already clutching the sheets to her chest, when the light reveals her visitor.

John's standing at the foot of the bed, his face passive, hands in his pockets and she finds that she can't really talk – doesn't want to look stupid if this ends up being another dream where she talks in her sleep and he gets to use it against her.

"An angel came to see you. Who was it?"

She blinks, surprised that he spoke first.

In her dreams, he never does.

"I," she closes her mouth, trying to remember _something_, but it's not there. It's almost like she knows he's onto something but doesn't know exactly what. "I don't know. Did you see someone?"

His face betrays nothing, "Angels leave a supernatural trace. This one is over two days old, but still smells fresh. Did you anger any more angels as of late?"

She shakes her head, her eyebrows furrowed, "I don't think so." She's trying to claw at her own memory, until she finds a name, _the _name. Her eyes widen as she meets his gaze, "Michael."

That elicits a reaction. John's eyebrows shoot up and then he smiles, "Well, considering what his visits usually consist of, I must say, you're quite fortunate."

"No," she words, struggling with the memory she has just uncovered. Something isn't right, she can sense it, but it's already getting away from her. It's like he said – a trail, not too old, so she can see the footprints left behind, but they're fading, about to be washed away by the tide. Maybe if he had come sooner, she could have tried...

"Allison," when he says her name, she realizes she's breathing hard, her hands balled into fists, her nails digging into her skin and he's sitting at the edge next to her, forcing her hands open. It's an unexpected gesture – but not unwelcome. "What do you see?"

She bites her lip, shaking her head. "Nothing. I don't see anything. It's like...my mind's blank. I just remember it was something important – he was something important. But what would an archangel want with me?"

"He probably wanted to congratulate you," John's tone is far from congratulatory. She knows when she's being made fun of. "It's not every day that a half-monkey succeeds where His angels failed. Well, there was one other time."

"Still doesn't explain why I can't remember it," she mutters, trying to pretend he's not getting under her skin – he always does.

"No, you're right. It doesn't." His study of her always makes her uncomfortable but, in a way, she likes this – likes _him _being this close, in her life, making her feel...like she has a purpose again. "Allison," he words her name like a caress, "would you like me to congratulate you? I promise to let you remember it."

Her heart skips a beat, her mouth half open, and she's about to say something unbelievably stupid – something along the lines of _please _– when he's touching her lower lip, tracing the line with his finger, and he speaks first, "Well done, Allison."

She's leaning into his touch, but when she blinks, he's no longer there, instead he's standing next to her balcony, hands in his pocket, as if he has always been there and she had just imagined the last few minutes.

"You should sleep now, Allison," he says, smiling, "insomnia will play tricks with your mind."

She narrows her eyes, "Don't you mean you'll be the one playing the tricks?"

His smirk warns her not to play this game with him – _his _game – but she's not sure she can stop. "I don't play tricks, Allison. They're far too simple to trouble myself with. Besides, it's far more entertaining to see the tricks playing themselves out. Sweet dreams."

When he disappears, she wishes she had thrown something at him.

In the end, what frustrates her more is that he kept his promise – it's not a congratulations she's likely to forget – and it leaves her wanting something _more_.

Something she can never have – something he'll never be.


	9. Chapter 8 - An Unwanted Truth

_You're too late. _

* * *

**Chapter 8. An Unwanted Truth**

* * *

John hasn't seen Michael in a very long, _long_, long time.

Truthfully, the last thing John saw of Michael was just before the archangel had attempted to plunge his sanctimonious sword into John's chest – _Lucifer's _– but he had moved just in time and then the war was lost.

Another war is coming, John knows, one he doesn't intend to lose, but more than that, they're keeping secrets from him – inside Allison.

He's used to knowing every little detail – monkeys are usually used as incubators for prophecies, easily retrieved from the weak – but with Allison, that's not an option.

Whomever did it knew exactly what he was doing – did it very well, in fact – and hid it from Allison herself.

_Michael_.

He hasn't been in this part of the world in a while – he's not partial to it – but Michael and his angels frequent it.

He's not allowed to enter, of course, but Michael knows he's waiting – they all do.

John looks fondly at the apple tree – it reminds him of a rather pleasant memory.

"Lucifer," Michael acknowledges him and John doesn't meet his eyes, not right away, taking his time to gaze at the visual victory, letting Michael notice. "I don't believe you're here to offer your services as our gardener."

"May I? I remember doing quite well the first time." Off Michael's narrowed gaze, he adds, "How is Eve?"

Michael evades his question – such matters are kept hidden from him, such as souls he will never again be allowed to touch. "I heard of your little assistance to Simon's chosen. You could've done worse. Congratulations."

John pretends that it doesn't bother him – the idea that Michael has, in his own way, treated John like a dog by patting his head with his words.

He shrugs, smiling, "It met my interests at the time."

"Of course. And now?" Michael sounds far more interested than he should be.

"You tell me. I heard you paid her a visit," he studies every expression on Michael's face before the archangel can answer, but John senses no recognition.

"You heard wrong." Michael's answer is simple and very much like him. Michael's not gifted with details.

"She remembers your name." John tries to bait him – to find _something_.

"As do many of them." His face finally shows an expression other than the one many angels have conquered, which is usually quiet indifference. This one expression shows curiosity. "I'll make you an offer, Lucifer."

"This should be interesting," John interrupts, but waits, gazing behind Michael to see that more angels have showed, listening. He imagines Michael's question will be one shared by many others.

"Answer my question truthfully and I might answer yours. Why are you troubling yourself with this particular nephalim?" John doesn't answer. Michael continues, "She has fulfilled her purpose – the one that, I'll allow myself to believe for one moment, met your interests. What is her life to you now?"

"Nothing," he lies, and only he can lie so well, he knows. "But clearly, she is something to you, or else you wouldn't be wasting time binding a memory she can't remember. What interests you, might interest me."

"Hmm." Michael doesn't call him out on his lie – as it is not a lie, not _really_– but his smile tells John that maybe he revealed something.

Lightning illuminates the sky and John notes that the clouds practically came out of nowhere – he doesn't remember them being there at all.

"You're too late," Michael gazes at the sky and when he meets his eyes, John can almost sense the pity in them. "Only one of us will learn a truth tonight, perhaps not the one we're seeking."

John doesn't ask what that's supposed to mean – he's Lucifer, the Prince of Darkness, the first of the Fallen. He doesn't ask. He _demands_ but he knows any further attempts will sound like begging and he does not _beg_.

He has to save face and demonstrate no further interest in Allison.

He watches Michael turn around, but John doesn't make a move to leave.

He's not done.

"This war belong to me, Michael. Next I see you, you'll find yourself absent a sword."

Michael has his hand on the gate, his head turned slightly, his smile only half visible. "Next I see you, Lucifer, you'll find yourself absent words."

When he leaves, John looks at the sky and _senses _something isn't right.

The lightning – the thunder – it almost makes him feel like he's being laughed at.

It wouldn't be until he returns to _his _realm that he learns what Michael meant – what some of what he said meant.

Allison is dead.


	10. Chapter 9 - When Unseen Chains Break

_"I want a life that is mine!" (Memoirs of a Geisha, 2005) _

* * *

**Chapter 9. When Unseen Chains Break**

* * *

Stark lost and little Mikael Paun lives to breathe another day.

John keeps his distance, hearing the sirens get closer and knowing that, anytime now, Allison will recover from her wounds and her survival will be a miracle – to them – and an insult to some.

Angels, in spite of their holy status, are not impervious to sin – pride can be a very dangerous thing, even to the best of God's creatures.

But he can't command himself to care.

His job here is done – he has guaranteed himself the end of the world.

And yet, he doesn't move – doesn't leave – until the paramedics take her from the scene.

John has no reason for existing now – Lucifer is his name, what he is called, by _his _brothers – and he avoids going to the surface unless it's to torture another monk who thinks he's too close to God to feel doubt.

They're his favorites.

And, sometimes, he sneaks a peek at Allison, seeing as her life hasn't changed, still very much the same, but she seems to be waiting for something – for _him_.

She still strolls down the park, without purpose, but he never follows her for long.

There are other matters that require his attention – war, famine, the usual – and Allison has no place in them.

His life has no place for her.

* * *

He killed one of his men today – the true death, beyond the damned, the destruction of a soul – and hell's fire rose until even the earth felt the anger threaten to burst through its crust.

Allison is dead – Stark, apparently, had been more unforgiving than John thought – and even though John had accepted that _his_ life could not have _her_in it, he always kept an eye on her.

Or someone's eyes.

His man had failed.

He remembers the demon's words before he tore his heart from him, "Lucifer, she is not one of us. She's of them. She's not important!"

And in the midst of his pleas, his words broke from his mind – words he had buried deep, hidden from himself, "She. Was. Mine!"

It was in that moment of loss that he realized...he had never claimed Allison as his, but he could have.

She wouldn't have resisted – wouldn't have been able to.

She had been the one human who piqued his curiosity – who wanted him, in spite of everything she knew, simply because of a _feeling_.

He often mocked humans for such feelings, but sensing the genuine care of hers – now gone – made him entertain the thought of one day owning a new life, one where he could receive her misguided affections and return them, without damaging his reputation, of course.

* * *

He goes to her apartment that night.

The room still looks as if expecting her to return.

He gazes at the bed and remembers watching her sleep – watching her dream of him.

She always amused him, how she would _feel _things and then pretend she had no feelings at all, until he provoked her and then the layers she put up to hide herself from him would disintegrate.

She had wanted him – she _longed _for him.

"Is that a smile I see, Lucifer?"

John doesn't blink, keeping his hands in his pockets.

"Gabriel. You look well." He's not looking at the angel, so the assessment is as empty as the sentiment.

"Oh, you know, after you threw me out of hell, I did a little more trouble, but God, in all His mercy, took me back...after I did Him a favor or two," Gabriel's voice, as always, annoys him. How the man could ooze sarcasm and devotion in one sentence, he would never understand.

"Sounds like Him. Have you come to beg me to take you back?" John sees him from the corner of his eye, looking just as he did the last time they crossed paths – when John was busy eating his heart.

"No," Gabriel smiles, "I've come to watch you mourn. I have to say, I'm impressed."

His laugh makes John wants to rip out his heart – again – but something stops him.

_Allison._

John ignores Gabriel's behavior – the jokes he's making at his expense – and looks at the empty bed in front of him.

"Is she at peace now?" That, at least, would grant him some comfort – he doesn't understand why he cares, but he does, and perhaps that's what angers his most of all.

The realization of a feeling – one that came too late.

"Not quite." Gabriel joins him, standing side-by-side.

John quirks a brow, facing him. "She's not in hell." He would've known. He knows all his little inmates – intimately. He feels them inside of him, recoiling in agony and pain. He savors each of them – with every soul delivered to him, he feels them all.

"She's not dead," Gabriel states as-a-matter-of-fact. "She's been reborn."

John's face remains fairly passive, in spite of everything that just exploded in his mind. Reincarnation is not likely for _mos t_mortals, let alone a nephilim. The removal of the heart causes certain deaths to be...final, no refund.

The idea that Allison's soul was somehow saved and placed in another monkey suit is...difficult to decipher. As always, John doesn't accept things as "just because".

"Why?"

Gabriel shrugs, "I don't question Him anymore. Last time I did, well, you know." He tilts his head, studying John, considering his next words, "I don't know why she's been reborn, Lucifer, but she's alive. And she's not going to be happy about it, either." Off John's questioning brow, he continues, "She's going to remember everything. He wants her to. She's got a role in the grand scheme of things. He needs her to remember."

Gabriel turns around with a sigh, but his words don't stop there. "It's too bad the pages got scattered. I'm pretty sure her name would've turned up somewhere. Yours, too, probably."

John knows the angel is toying with him – and, in a sense, it's working. "Gabriel." That stops him in his tracks, but Gabriel doesn't turn around, standing on the balcony, ready to extend his wings and disappear to a place John cannot follow.

"Why do I feel as if she's going to be used for one of His games?" John isn't the only one capable of playing games – of moving people as if they were just another piece from a chess board. After all, he learned from the best, and aspired to _be _the best – one of the many reasons he ended up stuck in the life sentence he's been given.

"Because you were always the smart one, Lucifer. Too smart. That was always your problem. Didn't you read their Bible?" Gabriel looks over his shoulder, giving John one last smile, "Ignorance is bliss."

John watches Gabriel disappear but the anger that begins to form is almost instantaneous.

Allison is alive – reborn, with her memories, somewhere he cannot touch her, for now.

God needs her – to bring forth the apocalypse? To stop it? To play a part in the final battle? To die as the final sacrifice? He doesn't know.

John _wants _her.

Thinking her dead, his anger had been directed at himself – at what he was and all that stopped him from ever entertaining the thought that he could ever have such a life, of being more than what he is.

Now, knowing she's alive, he's angry at God – certainly not unfamiliar territory – as he knows whatever purpose this second life will give her, Allison will fulfill it because she _is _that sort of idiot.

She will follow her heart, she will keep her faith and she will fulfill her purpose.

He leaves the room, feeling as damned as ever, a feeling he had never once felt at odds with until he met...her.

The one who made him question the ownership of his own life – if the devil is free to do as he pleased, why does he feel as if vessel is still chained?

Something would have to be done about that...and soon.

With her second life, would come his.


End file.
